Sic Itur Ad Astra

nankurunaisa-klang asked: mahal kita :)

Mahal rin kita! :)

nankurunaisa-klang asked: Kuya? anong no. mo? :) galing niyo po kasing kumuha ng litrato? puede po ba akong model? :)

HAHAHA. Sige imemessage ko sa'yo :)  Ay thanks. Kakaflatter naman :P O sige ikaw ang next model ko. okay lang ba? ;)

Untitled (and unfinished) short story about a Shakespearean play.

Once upon a time I was either bored, or procrastinating the day before my finals. So I wrote this short story.

One

“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats, as the show is about to begin.”

All the lights faded out and a curtain of darkness swept throughout the theatre. The five hundred-odd audience hummed not unlike the far away sound of a waterfall. The tour has arrived in their city at last. As the lights erupted again, the audience faded into polite silence—ready to be dazzled by the production. 

The lights faded in slowly, like a pair of sleepy eyes at 7 in the morning. There was a small, rickety bench on centre stage.

The greatest show on earth was about to start.

Two

“Ladies and gentlemen, we will be having a twenty-minute break. Those in need of a lavatory, please proceed to the lobby and follow the signs. We are also selling refreshments for your convenience.”

The stage curtains were drawn. Beneath its lush, velvet skin is organized chaos; stage managers running with heavily annotated scripts, burly men moving massive set pieces across the stage, actors sitting down and having a drink. All in complete silence.

I was in my dressing room, marvelling at the magnitude of this production: the expensive sets, the brilliant actors, and the most experienced crew I’ve seen in my thirty years. Critics raved over its creative style, its uniqueness. It was hailed as “a moving, talking masterpiece” by even the most esteemed playwrights. The detractors were simply outnumbered by the praise.

“Company call in a minute, guys,” the stage manager’s voice, soft and luxurious, rang in my earpiece.

Within three-quarters of a minute, the cast and crew of fifty-two were already assembled at backstage, waiting for the director’s last briefing. I was one of the few stragglers running from the dressing room. The anticipation among the actors was palpable. This was the performance of a lifetime. On the biggest stage in the world.

“Did I miss anything?” I asked an actor wearing a ridiculous green-and-brown poncho.

“No,” she said, “Will isn’t here yet.” Will was the director.

“I’ve said this every performance, but that poncho is just ridiculous.”

“Thanks.”

“Guillermo, Will left for the hospital,” my ear piece said. That same soft, luxurious voice. “Family emergency. Can you do the final call?”

“Oh, pity,” I mumbled. “Sure thing, Olivia.”

“Thanks. Love you.” My fiancée made a kissing sound.

“Love you back.”

Three

“Ladies and gentlemen, please prepare to take your seats. The show will begin in five minutes. Thank you,” a deep male voice resounded on the PA system.